


The Long Game

by AwkwardAnnie



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardAnnie/pseuds/AwkwardAnnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One cockstand in the middle of a council meeting could be considered an anomaly. Two was starting to look like a habit."</p><p>Annoyed by his master's lack of consideration, Sauron proposes a challenge. Melkor is confident he will succeed.</p><p>Sequel to "Sleight of Hand".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Game

Melkor was concerned. One cockstand in the middle of a council meeting could be considered an anomaly. Two was starting to look like a habit.

The ridiculous business had started not in the war room this time, but the previous evening in Melkor's own chambers. More specifically, it was around the time that he had been pinned to the bed under Sauron's clever fingers, back arching as he growled through his release, drifting lazily down from the heights of bliss and thinking what a good idea it had been to incarnate in the form of a species that really had a handle on this intercourse business. Through the pleasant fog clouding his mind he felt Sauron moving atop him, no longer joined but still rocking in slow, undulating movements punctuated with little gasps and hums of pleasure. He gathered his wits enough to drag his fingernails up the outside of one smooth thigh and was rewarded by a whimper and a toss of the Maia's head that sent his hair tumbling down his back like rivulets of molten metal.

"You are close," he rumbled, and it was not a question; Sauron's state was apparent in his face glowing like the coals of his forge, his fiery eyes closed.

"Yesss," came the unnecessary reply, hissed through parted lips, and if Melkor had not spent already the sound would surely have finished him off. It felt appropriate to offer assistance.

"Allow me."

Sauron's eyes snapped open and he gasped "No, wait—", but he was too slow. Melkor's hand wrapped around him and stroked once, twice, thrice, and with a cry mingling surprise and ecstasy he spilt over his master's fingers, collapsing forward to land with his face in the crook of Melkor's neck. Melkor caught his lieutenant in his arms, breathing in the scent of hot metal and smoke and dried blood that seemed to cling in his very skin, and for a brief moment everything was brilliantly, dizzyingly and slightly stickily perfect.

After a few minutes, Sauron propped himself up with an elbow on either side of Melkor's head, looked down at his lord and said with a scowl, "Do you know what your problem is, Bauglir?"

"I believe you have a mind to tell me," said Melkor with considerable amusement, because a scowling Sauron looked like he was capable of ending entire worlds and Melkor found this extremely endearing.

The scowl deepened. "Indeed, I do. You are impatient. You go at everything like a troll at a gate, consequences be damned. You have no concept of playing the long game; instead, you seek instant reward and cannot comprehend the benefits of restraint."

"Is this a complaint about my conduct in the bedroom or on the battlefield?"

"Both," said Sauron. "Though I confess it is the former which vexes me more, the latter is also a concern."

"The latter also?" Melkor frowned. "Is this game we play against my wretched brother and his pitiful servants not long enough for you?"

"It certainly feels long, but sometimes I wonder if you remember why you began it."

Melkor huffed. At any other time, such treacherous words would have warranted punishment, but even he had to admit that it was difficult to summon the will to mete out tyrannical justice when its intended recipient was sprawled across his chest glowering so beautifully. Instead he asked, "And what of the former?"

Sauron gave an annoyed little hum. "If you had not decided to take matters into your own hands, I might have lingered on the precipice for hours, and my end when it finally came might have shaken mountains."

"But why wait hours for the mountains, when I can move you in a heartbeat?" asked Melkor, genuinely confused.

"As I said," replied Sauron, twisting a strand of Melkor's hair around his finger, not especially gently. "Impatient."

"Perhaps there are too many other calls on my patience," said Melkor pointedly.

"Perhaps you fear you cannot last," Sauron returned.

Melkor narrowed his eyes. "Do you challenge me?"

"I do," said Sauron and matched his stare pound for pound. It was magnificent.

"Then name your contest, Gorthaur, and I will meet it."

The smile that spread across Sauron's face somehow managed to be both angelic and demonic at once. "You recall, not three weeks since, how terribly bored you were in council with your generals?" he asked. "And how I, faithful servant that I am, devised a most effective method of entertainment?"

Melkor did, despite his best efforts. Indeed, he was rather worried that he did not actually _wish_ to forget what it had felt like to have those invisible hands, extensions of Sauron's will given weight, running over him; stroking, teasing, caressing as though they had been separated by mere inches and not by a stone table and a dozen or so oblivious orcs (and Thuringwethil, who was rather more perceptive and now smirked knowingly at him every time they made eye contact). He grunted to the affirmative.

"We reconvene tomorrow; you have read the agenda, I am sure." Melkor had not, though he was fairly sure he had _seen_ it lying around somewhere—possibly the floor. "Thus, my challenge: last until the end of the meeting." Melkor made a disbelieving sound in his throat. Sauron smirked. "Of course," he continued, "if you feel that is beyond your ability, I will happily accept your surrender here and now."

Melkor was having none of that. "The terms?"

"Straightforward. The game begins when I call the meeting to order and ends when it is dispersed. If you spill before the end, you lose. If you touch yourself, you lose. If any of your generals realise what is happening—unlikely though that may be—you lose. Agreed?"

"You have spoken naught of stakes. What is my prize, should I succeed?"

"Me." Sauron bent his head and nipped at the corner of Melkor's jaw, a threat and a promise. "Any way you would have me, and I shall never again complain of your poor bed-manners."

"Hmph. And if I lose?"

"I have not yet decided."

It was not a difficult decision, though in hindsight it should really have warranted further consideration. "I accept," said Melkor, and hoped very much that the agenda was a brief one.

 

It was not. If Melkor hadn't known better, he would have suspected Sauron of deliberately assembling the largest collection of inconsequential and trivial issues he could find in an effort to drag the ordeal out as long as possible. Already the generals had argued over patrol routes (again), the organisation of the barracks and the optimum length of a short-sword, utterly oblivious to the slightly glazed look on their lord's face as he fought to ignore the phantom finger drawing intricate sigils up the inside of his thigh. And yet they were still not a third of the way down the itemised list.

Melkor was relieved to note that Thuringwethil was conspicuous by her absence; he had feared that he would never again be able to look her in the face. There were also one or two of his generals missing, which was a minor miracle; the fewer witnesses the better.

"General Razbug sends his apologies, Lieutenant Mairon," said an orc. "But he asked if I could give you this." She passed Sauron a folded note.

"Bet you latrine duty for a week that it's about fish," muttered another orc.

"No deal," replied his neighbour.

Sauron opened the note. He read it, his expression inscrutable. Then he folded it again with a sigh. "I am not sure what I expected," he said, and there was a snickering around the table.

"Told you," said the betting orc.

The next item on the agenda concerned training rotas and soon devolved into an argument between the two generals who had raised the issue in the first place. Sauron let them squabble for a few minutes and turned his attention to the other matter.

Melkor was feeling quite confident at the moment. He had endured Sauron's teasing for a good half an hour with nary a peep, had responded to a couple of questions without embarrassing himself, and even now when he felt the hand on his leg slide up and begin stroking and pressing at his growing hardness in earnest, sending little sparks of heat through him with every touch, he managed to restrict his reaction to a rough exhalation through his nose. He would not be bested by this impudent Maia today!

 _An admirable start, my lord_ , commented Sauron in his head, cutting through the din. Then he addressed the table. "Ladies, be seated. Let us resolve this with the minimum of bloodshed." The perpetrators sank reluctantly into their seats with much grumbling. "General Raksha, your captains will take the first rota. We will reassign in two months' time. Are we in accord?" The generals muttered their assent, Raksha looking especially put-out.

Melkor paid little attention to the various debates that followed, concentrating as he was on keeping his breathing level. Oh, but it was _delicious_ , the warmth curling in his loins, simmering gently but not threatening to boil over. If only he could remain there until the end of the meeting he would be not only safe but well-pleased. Eventually he looked down at the agenda and found to his relief that there was only one more point. Victory seemed at hand.

But it was not to be. Sauron yielded the floor to a small, excitable orc with a complicated status report on the construction of the latest batch of siege engines, and as phrases like "tensile strength" and "turning moment" and "equilibrium" flew like trebuchet projectiles over the heads of the other generals, Melkor felt the brush of fingertips on his face, skirting his mouth and running down his throat in a move so calculatedly erotic he could almost picture Sauron devising an equation to describe it.

Then his lieutenant unleashed his most deadly weapon.

 _Are you enjoying this, my lord?_ he purred. _I know I am._ And he shifted in his chair, crossing one leg pointedly over the other.

It was a wicked, deceitful move, but the slightest suggestion that Sauron was as aroused by their little game as Melkor himself was more powerful than any mere touch. He swallowed a gasp and tightened his grip on the arms of his throne. The scales had definitely tilted. Still, there could not be long to go.

The engineer concluded his summary, and Sauron nodded. "Good," he said, without even a hint of a tremor in his voice. "But three months is, I fear, too long a time. How many more workers would you require to complete the job in one?"

The engineer looked mildly horrified to be asked such a question. "Erm, two hundred, my lord?" he guessed. "I cannot say for certain without consulting my foremen."

"Do so, and have the report on my desk by noon tomorrow," said Sauron, and the little orc looked so intensely relieved that Melkor almost laughed. Then came the words he had been waiting for: "Is there any other business?"

There was silence for a moment, and Melkor's heart leapt. He had done it! He had put the pesky Maia in his place, and that night he would claim his prize.

Then from the middle of the table came a sound like a huge set of bellows being opened. It was Gothmog breathing in.

Melkor was doomed.

The Lord of Balrogs spoke little, at least off the battlefield, and it was a common mistake among the younger orcs to think this evidence of either laziness or stupidity, but Melkor knew better. Gothmog talked little because he listened instead. There was nothing that went on in the fortress that he did not notice, and he remembered it all, and filed and collated it with frightening efficiency. Then he would present the list of misdeeds at council, where he took up three seats (plus one on either side to accommodate his wings) in an image as comical as it was terrifying. If he was going to air his grievances now, then it would mean at least ten more minutes where Sauron could do his worst.

" **My lords,"** rumbled Gothmog in his slow, considered manner. " **I have compiled a list of items which may prove of interest**."

"Splendid," said Sauron cheerily. "Do share." He settled back in his chair and favoured Melkor with a smug smile.

 _You knew_ , growled Melkor.

_Of course. I have even seen the list. It is very long indeed. I may have added to it myself, in the course of my duties._

_Whelp. Surely that is cheating._

Sauron tipped his head in a carefree gesture. _It was not prohibited by the terms. Still, you may punish me for it later, if you wish. Provided, of course, that you win._ And he backed up his point with a sharp tug.

Melkor gritted his teeth. Sauron sat forward, resting his chin on his folded hands as if to better listen to Gothmog's grumbling report. _Do you recall how you punished me for my last indiscretion_?

Melkor did. He had been trying very hard not to think about it. It had been very, _very_ good.

 _It was right here on this table_ , Sauron continued. _Do you recall? You bent me over and took me from behind._

That was _definitely_ cheating. Desire spiked deep in him. Yes, he remembered. It had been fast and rough, one hand on Sauron's hip and the other buried in his hair, pressing him down into the worn stone.

_Did you like the feel of it? How you filled me so completely? Oh, it was glorious. Well do they call you He Who Arises In Might, for surely you arose mightily that day. Never have I known so great a weapon so deftly wielded._

Yes, _yes_ , the feel of him, all around, hotter than a furnace, as though the fire of his spirit might burn through his fragile corporeal body and consume them both—

Melkor didn't even realise he had made a sound until there was an answer like rocks falling in a canyon.

" **My lord, are you well?** " Gothmog's voice was as concerned as it was possible for an enormous Balrog to sound, which was not very.

In his entire existence, Melkor had never thought as quickly as he did then. "It is that so-called 'Lord of the Airs'," he lied, trying to make the shake in his voice sound like disdain rather than arousal. "Ever he seeks to know my mind and discern my plans. But he shall not prevail."

 _Oh, well done,_ came Sauron's thought, sounding genuinely impressed. _Well done indeed._

It was impossible to read Gothmog's reaction in his beast-like face, but the orcs were nodding as if that made perfect sense, and he did not inquire further but returned to his lengthy list of complaints.

 _You will not have me yet_ , Melkor swore, though the sweat beading on the back of his neck told a different tale. It was absurd, to have lasted this long and be undone by his servant's _voice_.

 _There is still time,_ said Sauron lazily. _I will have you. And then, I will_ have _you._ And, vile, accursed thing that he was, he gave Melkor a broad grin and ran his tongue along his upper teeth. _You would like that, would you not? For me to take you, as you took me and made me scream so loudly the entire fortress must have heard._

In his mind, Melkor spat ancient Valarin curses that would have scorched the air and blistered the faces of those near him had he spoken them aloud. For Sauron _had_ cried out under his hands, oaths and pleas and _harder deeper please please yes yes YES_ and oh, how Melkor wanted to snatch him from his seat and press his smug face into the stone and hear it all over again.

But Sauron was not through with his torture, not by a long way. _Oh, but I would be so slow, dear master, so slow,_ he whispered, so that Melkor had to strain his will and open his mind just to hear the words. _Not fast, as you had me, so rough and strong and impatient as you are. I would be slow, and gentle, and I would coax you to heights you cannot even fathom, until you screamed and sobbed and begged for release. And I would give it to you, eventually, for I can show mercy when I will, and your glory would be_ exquisite _._

The ghost of a whimper slipped treacherously through his teeth. He was so close now, and he didn't even care. The war room and the generals and Gothmog's gloomy baritone still going on faded into the distance, and all he knew was the building pressure and Sauron's wicked voice in his head. The hand on his groin pressed down and this time he rolled his hips to match, and yes, _yes_ , that was what he needed.

 _Good_ , hummed Sauron, and now instead of sounding in his head it was as if his lieutenant stood behind him, whispering in his ear. _Yes_ , _good_. _Oh, you are beautiful like this, dear master, so beautiful._

 _Please—_ He hadn't meant to think it, not consciously, but his body sought release, _needed_ release.

He practically felt Sauron grin. _Remember, I am merciful._ And then Sauron's will was all around him as if he were wreathed in fire, and Sauron's hand was on him, burning and scorching, and Sauron's voice licked like flames in his ear. _Spill._

Melkor was powerless to disobey.

The snarl that ripped out of him was more beast than anything else, and he barely muffled it with the heel of his palm as all the pent-up desire finally crashed like a wave over him, blinding and deafening him to anything but the sheer bliss of it. Gradually the world outside returned, and he found he had hidden his panting face behind his hand, which was probably for the best. Through the blood still roaring in his ears he was sure he heard someone say, "Aye, that's right, my lord, show that poncy bastard who rules here!", and was never more thankful for the stubbornly specific idiocy of orcs. As his breathing slowed he risked a peek between his fingers. Sauron was on his feet, grinning like the cat that had just been handed the keys to an entire dairy farm.

"—will meet again in a week," he was saying. "Fear not for your lord; I shall see to it that he is rested."

Melkor hid his face again as the generals shuffled out. The door slammed shut, and he looked up just in time to see Sauron with one hand braced on the edge of the table, the other scrabbling at the laces of his breeches and slipping inside. A few quick flicks of his wrist later, he gave a long, luxurious moan, his eyes closing and hips moving as he rode out his pleasure. After a moment he was still, then he straightened, wiping his fingers on his tunic and looking as if naught were amiss but for the colour risen in his cheeks.

"Impatient," he murmured, a beautiful breathlessness in his voice. "As I said."

"Well," said Melkor, and then had to pause until the words assembled themselves on his tongue in the correct order, which took some time. "It appears I must admit defeat."

"A useful skill to practise," said Sauron casually, gathering up his notes as if he had not just brought off both his master and himself while simultaneously chairing a council of a dozen stupid orcs and one pernickety Balrog.

"Ware your tongue, Gorthaur," warned Melkor. In truth, he was a little hurt at the sudden lack of attention.

Sauron paused, then inclined his head just a fraction. "Apologies, my lord." His path around the table collecting the assortment of discarded agendas and reports brought him beside Melkor finally, and he leant back against the table and cast an appraising eye over his master. "If it is a comfort, I thought you did very well."

Melkor huffed. "I suppose you would claim your prize now?" he asked. If he was quite honest, he was rather looking forward to it.

"Of course not," said Sauron, full of mock-concern. "That would never do. I gave Gothmog my word that you would be rested, and what I have planned for you would not be restive in the least. You know well his single-mindedness; I would never hear the last of it. No, you may settle your debt tomorrow."

Melkor was appalled. "Tomorrow?!"

Sauron laughed, clear and cold. "I was right," he said with a smirk. "No patience at all."


End file.
